


of asthmatics and amateur impressionists

by transtarboy



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: M/M, bed sharing, trans richie, words are said about feelings being felt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-21 19:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12464511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtarboy/pseuds/transtarboy
Summary: Richie's been acting weird, and Eddie seems to have something to do with it.





	1. a lake on fire

“Richie Tozier, I swear to god if you do not get that  _fucking_  snail  _away from me_ –!”

Eddie tripped over his own shoelace trying to get away from the  _slimey, gross, bacteria-infested, ew_ , creature held between Richie’s fingers, falling backwards into the soft grass. He landed with a soft thud, Richie bursting out into laughter at the look of disgusted defeat his face. He gently placed the snail back onto the gravel and walked over, extending his hand towards Eddie.

“C’mon, dweeb,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Seventeen years old and afraid of an inch-long mollusk.”

Eddie looked at the hand, and then back up at Richie. “I’m not touching your hand after that thing’s been spreading god knows what all over it, dumbass.”

Richie rolled his eyes. He dropped his hand and walked over towards his car, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jeans. As he leaned against the passenger door, he watched Eddie pick himself up and wipe imaginary dirt off of himself. He lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply as Eddie pulled hand sanitizer out of the knapsack he’s been carrying in place of his fanny pack since freshman year. 

As Eddie made his way over to Richie, he extended the bottle in the taller boy’s general direction after squirting some into his own hand. Richie held the cigarette between his lips and held out his hands, knowing Eddie wasn’t going to let him touch the bottle anyway. 

The hand sanitizer closed with a snap, and it was safely tucked away once again. Eddie dropped his bag through the open passenger window, holding his breath until he made it back around Richie to hop onto the hood of his car. He was the only one Richie ever let get away with it. He wasn’t quite sure why. 

“Do you have to smoke that shit?” 

Richie turned to lean his left side against the car, facing Eddie. “Ay, laddie–” 

“For fuck’s sake–”

“–brrings m’grreat joy, so don’t yew worreh yewrr pretteh lit’l hed.” He rolled his ‘r’s dramatically, failing spectacularly at what Eddie assumed was supposed to be a Scottish accent. 

“That was terrible,” he told Richie, but Eddie smiled all the same. He could stand the smell of cigarette smoke when the late afternoon sun wove through Richie’s curls like that, making them look impossible shiny and soft. 

“Why are you smiling then?” Richie asked, giving him a look that’s almost fond. Eddie didn’t answer, choosing instead to watch as he finished his cigarette, put it out against the pavement, and flicked it into the grass. He’s long since given up trying to talk Richie out of throwing his butts all over the damn place. 

The taller boy pushed himself off the car, heading towards the lake they parked in front of. Eddie slid off the car and followed suit. 

They easily found their preferred ledge. It overlooked the entire lake, and when the sun was in  _just_ the right place, it set the water ablaze with a deep, warm orange appearance. It was breathtaking, but it would be a while before that. For now, they sat side by side, seeing who could throw the farthest pebble. 

Eddie looked at Richie through the corner of his eye after each turn. Something was different about him lately. He was... quieter. Less in everybody’s faces. Whenever the Losers get together, he’s in his own little world. That’s not to say Trashmouth Tozier had given up his world class title. Oh no, Eddie thought to himself, he still had a big ass mouth, and made sure to use it. Just... not as much as he used to. 

It could be that Richie was just growing up, but Eddie scoffed at the idea. Richie would talk shit on his deathbed. His last words will probably end with “your mom”. 

But then there was the whole thing where he’d just stare at Eddie sometimes. If Richie was quiet, there was a 50/50 chance he was either in his own head, or staring at Eddie. It happened so often that even the others started to notice. It got to the point where they had tasked him with finding out what was wrong with Richie. Because there was no way in hell he was ever going to  _talk_ about his feelings. 

Richie had a lot of things to say about what (or who) he did in this free time, but when it came to talking about real shit, you may as well have asked the President himself for the nuclear codes. It just wasn’t happening. 

So, he asked Richie to hang out today. Alone. Which probably wasn’t the best idea, seeing as how he’s been in love with the asshole since he was fourteen, and had no fucking clue how to function around him, but it was time to get to the bottom of all of this. 

A pebble hit him in the chest. 

It didn’t hurt, but he still gave Richie a dirty look. “What the fuck was that for?” 

Richie raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like five minutes, dipshit.” 

“Oh,” he said stupidly. 

“Oh,” Richie mocked him, dusting off his jeans. He looked ready to leave, and Eddie panics. 

“What’s been going on with you?” He blurted out, nearly gasping at himself for just  _saying it like that oh my god what the fuck is wrong with you?_

Richie blinked, and then immediately switched into what the Losers have come to call ‘Deflection Mode’. 

“Well Eddie, if you want to know  _all_ the filthy details, I’ve been seeing this little piece from my chem class and oh, the things this girl can d–” 

“No,  _god_  no.  _Hell_  fucking no. Be serious just for like, one second.” Eddie shuddered, even though he knew Richie was talking out of his ass. He watched as the other boy picked up a stick and started to draw in the sand. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about then,” he said. Eddie huffed out a breath. Talking to Richie about his feelings was like pulling teeth. 

“Fine. You don’t need to. But we’re worried about you. The rest of the Losers and I, I mean. Obviously. It’s just– fuck. You’ve been really different, and-and-and not as fucking  _loud_ as you usually are, and we’re your friends. We’re your friends and we’re w– god damn it would you stop  _smiling_? I’m trying to be serious here!” 

Eddie stared in disbelief as Richie started to laugh. 

And laugh. 

And laugh. 

He laughed for so long Eddie couldn’t believe he hadn’t run out of fucking air  yet. And when he finally did stop, the smile on his face could have singlehandedly lit the whole town of Derry. The late sun set his deep brown eyes aglow, his freckles giving him an endearing, boyish look, despite how much he had grown in the last few years. He was vastly more beautiful than their burning lake, which had just started to appear, and Eddie was mesmerized. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

The words nearly stopped Eddie’ heart. And then proceeded to kickstart it into overdrive. It felt like it was going to leap out of his chest and take off running. For a moment he was terrified it had come from him, but he took in the furrow of Richie’s brow and the part in his lips, and knew. 

He never, not in his wildest dreams, would have thought Richie fucking Tozier would ever say those words to him. 

But there he was. Sincere, huge brown eyes behind those enormous glasses, curls softly mussed by the gentle breeze, and a soft, hopeful smile on his lips. The word fell out of him in a sigh before he could even register it. 

“Yes.” 


	2. nightlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you want to spend the night?"

Richie doesn't kiss him.

Instead, he turns back towards the setting sun, and closes his eyes. "Good to know."

Eddie sits on the warm rock in silence, watching the way Richie's foot tapped to his own beat. He doesn’t know what to say. Actually, he doesn’t know if he should say anything at all. He thinks he can see the tips of Richie’s ears flushed pink, but sunset always made everything look a little pink. He can’t know for sure.

Until a big hand slowly unfolds from the other on Richie’s lap, and gently rests palm-up in the space between them.

Eddie whips his head up to look at him, but Richie’s still staring at the lake.

Heart pounding, Eddie slides his hand down and interlocks their fingers. Richie immediately holds tight, his palms just a little bit sweaty.

They hold hands in silence until the light starts to fade, and dusk settles in. Neither of them have been very keen on being out at night alone, so they both get up to go back to the car in silent agreement.

Richie doesn’t let go of his hand until they get there.

The drive to Eddie’s house is short, and his mind’s racing a mile a minute. He spares a glance at Richie, taking in the glow of his lit cigarette and the pleasant set of his mouth. He doesn’t seem to be freaking out about what’s happened, so why should Eddie? He was going to treat this like any other day. Not to mention, Richie still hadn’t told him what’s been going on.

“Do you want to spend the night?” He asks, surprised at how much he wanted Richie to say yes.

“Yeah, okay,” Richie agrees, flicking his cigarette out of the window.

“Cool,” he replies, butterflies forming in his stomach. God, what was wrong with him? Richie’s spent the night tons of times. Just because they held hands and Richie asked to kiss him doesn’t mean anything will happen. It _doesn’t._

Oh fuck, but what if something does happen? What if Richie _does_ try and kiss him? Eddie doesn’t know the first thing about kissing! What if he fucks it up? What if he misses? What if Richie’s giant glasses poke him in the eye, blinding him permanently?!

“Think a little fucking louder, why don’t you?” Richie teases, taking a hand off the wheel to poke him in the shoulder. “I’m not going to kill you in your sleep, Eds.”

Eddie doesn’t know how to say that’s not what he’s worried about, so he instead says, “Both hands on the wheel, please. I’m trying to keep this shitty body alive for as long as possible.”

A beat.

“And don’t call me that, asswipe.”

Richie grins, returning his hand to the wheel. “Hands placed at 10 and 2, Mr. Kaspbrak. Did you want to check to see if I know where my blinkers are, too?”

“No,” Eddie retorts. “I already know you fucking don’t.”

He’d be lying if he said Richie’s answering laugh didn’t warm the pit of his stomach.

Richie parks down the block from Eddie’s house, like he always does. None of the losers have technically been _allowed_ to spend the night since that horrible summer, but that doesn’t stop them from sneaking in through his window- just like Richie's about to do.

He grabs his bag from the car and waits for Richie to lock it, and then heads off in the direction of his house. Richie quickly falls into step beside him. 

When they reach his yard, Richie splits off to climb the tree next to Eddie’s window, and the shorter boy carefully goes up his porch steps. His mom’s probably watching TV right now, but he doesn’t want to give her a reason to be up his ass all night. He pastes a smile onto his face and goes inside.

“Eddie Bear, is that you?” His mother calls from the living room.

“Yeah mom, it’s me,” he responds lightly, kicking off his sneakers and placing them by the front door. He crosses his fingers as he walks past the living room.

“Eddie.”

Fuck.

“Yeah?” He holds his breath.

“Remember to take your pills before bed.”

He lets out a quiet, relieved sigh. “Yes, ma.”

And then he quickly makes his way up the stairs, two at a time.

When he gets to his room, Richie’s already sitting on his desk chair, a couple leaves caught in his hair. Eddie is annoyed that he finds it kind of adorable.

“You’ve got some hitchhikers,” he says, walking over to pick them out of Richie’s curls. He tosses them out the window and watches them float down into the grass. 

“Much obliged,” Richie drawls out in a thick Southern accent. Eddie walks over to his closet and takes out two clean shirts, tossing one in the other boy’s direction.

“Here,” he says. “I don’t need you stinking up my bed with the smell of smoke. My mom would murder me.”

“Fair enough,” Richie shrugs, already pulling off his checkered flannel and the band tee underneath it. Eddie sucks in a breath and turns around, changing into his own shirt.

When he turns around, Richie’s stripped down to the clean t-shirt and boxers, already pulling back the sheets on Eddie’s bed. He doesn’t think too long about how… normal it looks to watch Richie settle into his bed, and he doesn’t want to. Instead, he grabs a washcloth from the pile of clean towels by the door.

“Did you do your shot today?” He asks Richie, suddenly remembering that it was Saturday.

Richie nods, pulling up his shirt to expose the bandaid a couple inches next to his bellybutton. “All juiced up.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.”

He walks the short distance to the bathroom and closes the door, determined to get through his night routine quickly.

When he makes it back to the room, Richie is laying down on the right side of his bed, facing the wall. Eddie closes his bedroom door and flicks on the nightlight Mike bought him after hearing about how badly the dark scared him after that summer. He can’t sleep without it, and it’ll help to see Richie’s face when he tries to pry some genuine emotion from him in a bit.

He turns off the main light and climbs into bed, settling into the left side and turning to face his friend.

“Hi,” he says quietly, as if any louder would scare Richie away.

“Hi,” Richie replies, equally quiet. His glasses are gone, flung haphazardly somewhere in Eddie’s room no doubt. Sometimes it was easy to forget how expressive Richie’s eyes were, especially because they’re almost always hidden behind those fucking goggles of his. But here, in the dim light of his bedroom, Eddie wonders how any of them could have missed it.

Richie looked _exhausted_.

Truly, deeply, down to the bone tired. The circles under his eyes are a deep purple, his eyes dazed and blank as if he hasn’t slept in months. Maybe even years.

“Richie…” Eddie starts, lifting a hand to touch the bruises under his eyes. Richie catches his hand halfway, instead pulling it towards him and holding it in one of his own giant ones.

The voice he puts on is a cloying sweet falsetto, his most grating English accent. “This gentleman appears to be –dare I say– _concerned_ for little old me. Not to worry, good sir! I am quite well. Nothing to bother yourself with. Some bloke by the name of Richard Tozier well and truly shagged this arse to pieces—”

Eddie flicks his chest with the hand Richie’s still holding captive.

“Just because you look half-dead doesn’t mean I won’t still kick your ass,” he gripes, and Richie sticks his tongue out.

Eddie turns over onto his back, retracting his arm. Richie was impossible to get to open up. Maybe he never would. Or, the asshole just likes to be annoying. Either way, Eddie’s running out of ideas.

Turns out, he didn’t need any.

As he’s lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, he feels Richie shift ever so slowly until there were soft brown curls brushing against his neck and a gentle weight on his shoulder. Oh fuck. Oh jesus, fuck,  _fuck––_

“Relax,” he hears through the ringing in his ears, and a hand places itself over his racing heart. “Your inhaler is way over there. Chill out.”

Eddie takes deep, bracing breaths under Richie’s instruction. He calms eventually, even finding the strength to reach a shaking hand out and placing it on the sheets covering Richie’s hip. He feels rather than hears the sharp breath Richie takes. It makes him feel just a bit better.

They lay in silence for a while. Eddie would have thought Richie fall asleep, had it not been for the constant soothing circles he drew on Eddie’s chest. 

“It knew I loved you before I did,” Richie says quietly, as if he hadn’t meant to at all. Eddie freezes. _Loved?_  

“I had… no fucking idea until It used you to lure me in. Your voice, your face, just. You. Bill, he saw Georgie. Mike saw the burning people, his family. Me… I heard you. I heard you and I didn’t fucking hesitate, not for a second. You broke your arm and that– that thing was coming at us with murder on the fucking brain, and the only thing I could think of was how I wasn’t going to leave you. Not even for one second did I even consider it. If you were going to die, it was going to have to fucking take me too.”

Eddie listened in shock, his heart pounding.

“It doesn’t fucking matter that it's been four years and I still can’t close my eyes without seeing It. That I can’t breathe more often than I can. That I could have disappeared that summer, and I don’t even know for sure if my parents would have looked for me. The only thing I can think about is the fact that you almost died without knowing, without even _me_ knowing, that I stop crawling out of my skin when I’m with you. Right now, in this room, together, for the first time in… fuck I don’t even know,” he laughs bitterly, lifting his head to look at Eddie, “I feel okay. I know I’m not, and I might fucking never be, but with you, I feel like I am. I just needed you to know th—“

Eddie kisses him.

They stare at each other for a second; Richie’s wide with surprise and Eddie’s wet with unshed tears, until Richie’s eyes flutter shut, and he kisses him back.

It’s uncoordinated –neither of them have ever done this shit before– but it’s genuine and sweet and everything a first kiss should be and then some.

When Eddie pulls back, Richie’s eyes are half-closed, his mouth dopily hanging open. He laughs softly, feeling so unlike himself, and reaches up to snap it shut.

“I love you, Richie Tozier. I’ve loved you since before I really knew what love was. You make me feel safe. Like as long as you’re within arm’s reach, I’m home.”

Richie blinks rapidly, looking up and away to keep the sudden tears from spilling. Eddie pretends not to notice. Instead, he reaches up and runs a hand through those impossibly soft curls, gentle coaxing the other boy to rest his head on his shoulder again.

“Try to get some sleep. I can’t be seen around town with a guy who looks like an actual zombie. What would my mom think?”

He feels Richie smile against his t-shirt.

* * *

In the morning, he sneaks his extra inhaler into the pocket of Richie's jeans. 

It's where it's always belonged anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i know hormones weren't really accessible like that back then but let me have this ok i love my trans son
> 
> also i wrote this at 2 am on my phone obviously unbeta'd so pls pardon any mistakes you find, i am very fuckin tired

**Author's Note:**

> to be continued maybe, if it gets enough love! you can follow me at tozbraks on tumblr :) thanks for reading!


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